


Seeing is Believing

by impish_nature



Series: Blind Faith [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Brotherly Fluff, Gen, blind faith au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6663487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Blind Faith AU. Stan’s sight slowly returns after years of travelling but he can’t bring himself to tell Ford and get his hopes up, not until he’s sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seeing is Believing

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I feel terrible for the title pun but I also don’t, sorry not sorry XD It should be called ‘Creative Circle’ because this started off as a headcanon. became a comic by @yourlocalviking (I almost wrote my local viking because its what i called you before, friend, i am too tired) and then because of that I wrote the scene out properly. Anywho! I hope you all enjoy ♥

It started with a half thought out notion.

It started with a stomach full of lead, the weight of false hope heavy and thick on his tongue and coiling deep within his chest.

“Stan?”

He winced, inwardly cursing at the concern in Ford’s voice. He hadn’t realised he’d made a disbelieving noise, a small mix of self-doubt and shock bubbling up out of his throat. His brother’s hand had landed on his shoulder, solid and comforting as he shook his head and gave him a shrug. “Sorry, zoned out there. Which way?”

“Left, but watch out, there’s a tree root dead ahead of you. You should be able to feel it with your stick.”

Stan nodded, arm stretching out and giving a soft self-satisfied smile when he walked forward and found the root without any trouble, side stepping it as Ford hovered over him. He wasn’t fussed by the careful watch, nor that the motions he himself had done were practised, the stick swaying left and right in a wide arc; it still gave him a small swoop of pride when he could do something on his own.

He glanced back down, a habit he had yet to break out of even after a few years of utter darkness, to check that he had indeed side stepped the entirety of the root that Ford had cautioned him about.

He couldn’t tell whether he was disappointed or relieved when as usual he saw nothing but his now comfortable gloom, his stick doing the work his eyes couldn’t and tapping his way forward through the safest route, Ford’s hand still hooked around his arm. He could feel his brother turning, eyes wide; taking in absolutely everything for the both of them. He would let small details slip now and then, his voice a reassuring hum in the quiet, so that Stan could paint the insides of his eyelids with colours that he could no longer see, build a landscape from the scraps.

He didn’t bring it up then, didn’t want to get Ford’s or his own hopes up. Or worse, somehow sound like he was accusing his brother by bringing up things they had already tried to lay behind them – not denied but reconciled between them. It was still a hard subject to broach. He didn’t want an argument about something he wasn’t even sure was happening. Didn’t want to fill himself with guilt or a new wave of dismal bitterness at the person who could have left him behind at any point.

If anything, he reasoned with himself, it was his overactive mind playing tricks on him and he had in fact imagined the whole thing.

But after years of complete darkness, he was sure that for just a second, _barely_ a second-

He was sure he had seen a glimmer of light, a dash of colour dance before his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The next time it happened, he had a harder job denying it.

They’d spent a while traversing some caves. It had not been the best journey, what with Ford being reminded of the…other place while they were navigating a path and going deathly silent on him for a while. He’d kept up the conversation on his end, punctuated their journey with small anecdotes from home and silly little stories of rash things he had done whilst living out of his car. He knew it wasn’t the best option. The best would have been getting him out of there as soon as possible but unfortunately they’d ended up in here after being chased so going back the way they had come wasn’t an option. But he could feel Ford’s chest vibrating against his back as he laughed silently along with his stories and that had been the main thing. That had been enough for him to know that they would be OK once he got them out of there.

He had been close to teasing at one point, the words on the tip of his tongue before he closed his mouth with a shake of his head. His stick mapped out their course, the vibrations as he tapped away lending him a visual that Ford couldn’t provide, almost as blind as him in the gloom and it had been so tempting, just for a moment. Just to chuckle and turn to his brother and joke that he was almost as useless as him in the perpetual darkness they were obvious in. He didn’t need to be able to see to know that…well, he wouldn’t be able to _see_ in the confined and musty rock space they’d squeeze themselves into. It would have all been in good fun in any other situation, but not when his brother was close to a panic attack about _there_ as it was.

It just wasn’t worth it.

Just like it wasn’t worth letting go of his hand for his own small semblance of sanity. If Ford pulled away from him, left him stranded in the darkness he knew he himself would fall back into that first dimension. Stuck, lost and alone, tapping the walls fruitlessly in the hopes of finding his brother through the silence that hurt his ears and clouded his judgement.

No, it really was just best to focus on getting them out of there, focus on talking away the panic that threatened to engulf them and keep Ford’s spirits up.

He closed his eyes, grit his teeth and listened intently again as he cracked the stick loudly against the wall. He felt Ford jump beside him and gripped his hand tighter. It was the only response he gave to having noticed, the rest of him still frozen, ears intently following the vibrations.

A grin bloomed on his face at the result. The space opened up ahead, the sounds spreading wide around the walls. Stan tugged on Ford’s hand, urging him forward in a quicker pace than they had been going. He kept his eyes shut, another odd habit that had no real basis in logic as he concentrated, clicking the stick periodically and following the vibrations it produced until he was sure there was no longer rock at all in one direction.

He noticed the exit first.

It was a split second difference but he’s certain this time. Certain that he opened his eyes and caught the light first. That he turned towards it before he felt Ford’s breath hitch against him. He lets his brother drag him in his shock towards the dim blur, the pitch black turned suddenly grey that he was no longer acquainted with.

He let Ford drop his hand without question once they were out in the open. No longer felt the panic that had been close to eating him clawing through his core. Not when he can hear Ford taking deep breaths beside him, his words slowly coming back as he describes where they’ve come out in small disjointed sentences.

Instead he carried on staring outwards, eyes wide and straining as the grey didn’t dissipate. There were no real shapes ahead of him, but from what Ford was muttering it was night, so maybe that was why there was still an inky patchwork around him. However the true darkness still wasn’t returning. There was still a hint of colour, a hint of light around him as he turned himself around, pretended that he was tapping his stick and doing his own exploration so Ford didn’t question him.

He raised a hand in front of him, pulled it close to his chest and unfurled it right within his line of sight.

A blob of stark white entered his vision to contrast the world he had grown accustomed to.

He stared for a few moments, moved his hand and watched the blob’s size slip and change with the motion. He felt tears pricking at his eyes from the pressure he was putting on them, refusing to close them and lose the nostalgic image that wasn’t there yet but was _so close_ he could almost taste it.

He jolted as Ford spoke, spinning to him and stuffing his hand into his pocket. His heart dropped slightly when he couldn’t see him but it lifted again a second later, a small dark blur amongst the rest of the greyscale moving as Ford continued to speak and drew closer.

It wasn’t much but it was there.

He still didn’t tell Ford.

Still too scared he’d wake up the next morning and it would all be gone.

 

* * *

 

“Ford, pass me your book thing.”

Ford sighed, a good natured smile coiling on his lips as he tried his best to keep the amusement from his tone. “You mean my journal?”

“No, I meant your diary. But your journal will do nicely.”

Ford couldn’t help the snort that left him at that. He had asked for that, really. He shook his head fondly, handing over his journal without much preamble. It was funny really, how vehement he’d been about hiding them once but now, with one of them lost with them in another dimension, it seemed highly unlikely that anyone would be able to follow the instructions.

Besides, it was Stan. Anyone else might have gotten a more suspicious response.

But he knew Stan. And he knew exactly where he was going with this.

“So, Ford. Let’s see how well you did at describing the latest monstrosity we encountered. Blobzilla, right?”

He rolled his eyes, feeling the foot kick him at his action even though it went unseen. Stan knew him far too well. “Why on earth would you call it that?”

“Well I bet it’s better than whatever dumb name you came up with. And for the record, we’re not on earth so I’ll call it what I like.”

Stan’s smug grin was infectious and Ford felt his own smile widen in response. These moments were his favourites, just him and his brother sitting around a camp fire with nothing to worry about other than unwinding and enjoying each other’s company.

“So? What have you called it then?”

He coughed, glancing away as Stan’s grin only seemed to grow more impish by the second. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Well then. Unless you have something better to tell me, it will be called Blobzilla for the remainder of this story.”

“Fine, Blobzilla it is. Now am I getting this story or is this all a ruse so you can think up a plotline?”

“The cheek of it! Just for that – you are definitely the damsel in distress in this story.”

Ford hummed, curling his arms around his legs, his head propped on his knees as he listened to the tall tale Stan spun. The first time he had done it Ford hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry and even now the feeling settled deep in his chest as his brother flicked through the pages of his journal, adamantly staring as if he was trying to find the passage he had last left the story at. He settled as Stan cleared his throat and told their last thrilling adventure through his ‘eyes’ tweaking things here and there to exaggerate the bold fights and daredevil escapes against a beast five times as large as they were. It was really three times as large as them at most but Ford wasn’t going to ruin the momentum of the story to remind him of this. Nor did he feel the need to point out that the creature had not been a bright green as Stan described it but instead a softer, more revolting yellow.

He didn’t know how it happened, but it was something he had found happened a lot in these moments. It felt like he was being drawn into the story, even if it was one that he had lived only days before, or in this particular case, that very morning. His brother had a way with words, a way with captivating an audience that held sway in every dramatic pause and sudden start. And just as he was held by the story, his body seemed pulling in by the gravitational influence until he ended up curled up next to Stan instead of across the fire from him.

He didn’t like having the fire between them, even if Stan didn’t notice.

His subconscious always moved him to this position no matter where he had previously sat. He always found himself wondering at this point why he hadn’t just sat down next to his brother in the first place.

Maybe because it was always nice to feel Stan reach out his hand and tug him closer still when he got sleepier. To rest on him while he finished his story, hands gesturing widely for effect even as his back lolled against Ford’s side.

Maybe it was because it was imperative that Stan closed the last few inches between them. Ford might set up the chance, slip slowly closer so that they were sitting close but he would not invade his personal space without his permission.

Not now, not after everything.

Not when he had done so much and Stan had been so twitchy around him for so long. Ford couldn’t blame him, the guilt ate away at him whenever he remembered. Even if it had been the right decision, one that even now he thought back on logically, it was a last resort. One that he might not have needed to make if he had not been sleep-deprived and left half mad by monsters whispering to him in the gloom, eyes staring back at him at every turn.

And as relieved as he was when they had left that place, when they had been able to find their first safe peaceful spot to sleep in and finally gain back some semblance of sanity, nothing was as bad as the nightmares that were to follow of what he had done.

Nothing was as bad as watching his brother full body flinch and stumble away from him in a blind panic, his arms raised defensively around his head as his chest heaved. All because he hadn’t announced himself before taking hold of his shoulder, had touched him without letting Stan know he was there.

He couldn’t go back to that.

Couldn’t go back to the mistrust that he knew he honestly deserved. It hurt too much, deep in his core. Stan was strong, Stan wasn’t allowed to be scared. Especially not of _him_. They were meant to protect one another, not hurt one another and somehow in _that_ place that had become a confusing mix that he hadn’t been able to see passed in his deluded state. He had protected and hurt him all at the same time and they were still living with the consequences.

A tight squeeze around his hand brought him back to reality, cutting off his thoughts before they could go any further.

Stan seemed to know his mind had been spiralling. He had a habit of knowing that. He didn’t know what it was that gave him away.

Maybe he’d stopped paying attention to the story.

Maybe the story had finished and he hadn’t made a remark about Stan’s inaccuracies.

“Hey Ford?”

“Yeah?”

“Is the sun setting?”

“Mm.”

“What does it look like?”

Ford let the breath he had been holding out in a steady stream. A distraction. That was what he needed. A small jolt of pain stabbed at his heart that Stan had to even ask- but he _was_ asking, he wasn’t accusing him or lashing out with the request. He just wanted to know, genuinely curious as he leant his head against Ford’s shoulder and let him know that he was trusted and wanted and everything else he so desperately needed in that moment. “Hmm…” He hummed thoughtfully, glancing up at the sky above them. “Close your eyes.”

“What? Why?”

“Humour me?” Ford felt Stan huff on his shoulder, and smiled softly. “Stan, I know that when you fight, you still close your eyes to concentrate better.” He felt Stan freeze beneath him and raised his arm up, hugging it around his shoulder. “So humour me? I want you to concentrate.”

He felt his brother grumble against him before following his request to close his eyes. Ford glanced back up at the sky, trying to find the best words to follow Stan’s enjoyable adventure. “Do you remember when we finally had the Stan’O’War almost ready to sail? When she was finally starting to look the part?”

A soft hum let him know his brother was settling happily and sleepily into the memory.

“Well, there was that one night we decided to just sit there, do you remember? We watched the sun set over the sea…the sunset here is very reminiscent of that. Instead of smooth waves in front of us, there are small rolling hills as far as the eye can see, right up to the horizon. It’s like we could reach up to the stars if we just walked far enough.” His grin caught at the old joke. That they would one day sail over the edge of the world and continue on sailing into the night sky. “The star line is fascinating. There are a lot more pinprick stars out there, probably because there’s no light pollution around us, and none of them are constellations we’d recognise. But it’s a breath-taking view. The sun is setting behind some large oddly pink mountains in the distance that I’d love to explore tomorrow, if you’re up for it…” He let his voice fade away, his description feeling very lacking against Stan’s own earlier anecdotes. He could feel disappointment creeping up his throat, forcing it shut. This was all wrong! Stan should be enjoying the view with him! Not asking him to describe it! He reached up a hand to rub at his face, to try and push the feeling down before it got too much.

Something small and tender caught on his hand before it reached its mark.

He paused, feeling Stan shift uneasily next to him. It was obvious that he had noticed the change but was giving him a few more moments to right himself before he stepped in. They did this. This weird song and dance where they only spoke about things if it was absolutely necessary.

Tonight was luckily shaping up to not be one of those nights.

Ford relaxed as he moved his fingers, rolling the material that had caught there between them. The feeling grounded him, let his muscles unwind as he remembered the exact reason he had pocketed the thing to begin with. “Hey, Stan. You know that thing I was researching before we got attacked?”

“You mean the thing that had you so distracted I had to literally drag you out of the way when Blobzilla launched at you?”

“Yes, quite.” Ford ignored the bait, feeling the teasing poke from Stan’s finger to his leg. “I grabbed one as you pulled me away.”

“Wait, really?” Stan sat up at that, much to Ford’s amusement. They hadn’t had a chance to speak about it beforehand, too busy running, too busy surviving and it would have disappointed Ford if he’d had the time to think about it. Stan was permanently curious about everything he studied, asking questions left, right and centre as he worked but it had fallen by the wayside in their predicament.

“Yeah, here, hold out your hand.” Ford waited as Stan got himself ready, hands outstretched and expectant. He slipped the flower out of his pocket, sadly slightly withered with everything else they had been through but better than nothing none the less. He put one palm on Stan’s, letting him know it was coming as he unfurled it into his hand. It wasn’t fragile but Stan had jumped on occasion before and dropped the items Ford gave him, his own frustration at himself showing through in a moment that was meant to be a warming gesture. He beamed as Stan pulled his hands away, fingers flitting over the surface in hesitant awe.

“It feels like silk, are you sure this is a real flower?”

“I’m sure, unless fake flowers grow on bushes here.” Ford felt anticipation take over him, trying not to bounce where he sat. “You should smell it, you know.” He chuckled as Stan turned suspicious eyes to him, gaze narrowing for a silent scrutiny before he shrugged and leaned down to the item in his hand.

Ford loved the gleeful shock that engulfed his twin in that moment, the small hiss of surprise before he glanced back up at him.

“It smells like Ma’s incense. That stuff she soaked the shop in. Can’t remember what it was meant to be. Always had those weird pompous names to make it sound fancy.”

“Yeah that’s what it reminded me of too. I don’t think her incense was meant to smell like flowers though.”

“Makes me think of home…thanks Sixer.”

“Don’t mention it, Lee.”

 

* * *

 

Stan peeked an eye open while Ford’s words were in full swing, letting a small smile slide across his face as the bright burn of the sun gave way to a night sky not filled with pinprick stars as Ford called them but a blooming bokeh that mapped the entire sky in interconnecting lights.

Or maybe he was being poetic and exaggerating, who knew. He certainly didn’t. Maybe the lights seemed that much brighter and better after having not seen them for so long.

What he did know with a bubble of excited satisfaction was that the hazy large pink things in the distance suddenly made a lot more sense even if his clarity of vision became no greater.

He wanted to say something, wanted to let Ford know now that he was sure. Even more so when the flower became a distinct fuzz of bright reds and stark purple mixed together in his hand like drying paint. It had been weeks, months even since that first unaccepted speck of light had filtered back in front of his eyes. Weeks since he had woken up, scared that everything was gone again only to realise it was the dead of night and his blankets had covered his eyes and his vision was still there, safe and sound if not completely healed.

But he had left it too late.

Now he didn’t know how to let his twin know without also letting him know he had been hiding his recovery for a while.

He bit his lip as he felt Ford yawn and slide away from him to his own sleeping bag. The moment was broken, a weird hush of tiredness taking over them that he felt he couldn’t break with such a big revelation.

“Goodnight, Stan.”

“N-night.”

 

* * *

 

Nothing Stan could think up seemed like a good idea when he thought of the consequences.

“ _Hey Ford, guess what? Turns out, I can see after all!”_

_“Wow Sixer, you’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you. No offence.”_

_“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”_

Stan growled lowly to himself, watching Ford turn to him at the noise. He gave an apologetic smile before glancing back down at the book in his hands, clenching his fingers around the spine. He’d told himself today was the day. That he had to be serious and just tell him, get it out there. It was a good revelation, a great one you might say. So why did it feel so weird to be happy about this? So awkward to tell his brother? He should just tell him straight- but not make a big deal about it. It wasn’t a big deal. After all, his vision hadn’t completely returned and as great as it was he didn’t need Ford guilt stricken about how elated he was to be freed of the curse he’d accidentally forced upon him. It was probably best to make it into a joke, to let him know casually rather than seriously but then his brain swirled with the idea that he’d make his brother angry. That he’d think he was lying. Being vindictive and spiteful just to hurt his brother.

“We don’t have to have a story tonight if you don’t feel up for one.”

Stan’s head snapped up at Ford’s words, the blurry outline warm and concerned next to him. He gulped, shaking his head. “N-no, I want to. Just struggling to think up something good, that’s all.” The lie came out quickly, swimming off his tongue with ease. In reality his mind was in turmoil, full of ‘what if’s and ‘maybes’ that seemed to all point to the worst case scenario that somehow Ford would take him having his vision back badly.

Or at least he’d take the fact that Stan hadn’t told him his vision was returning badly.

He shook his head, eyes cast back to the gold foil hand on the front of the journal. He let the mitten that he could make out soothe him, the individual fake fingers so close together that they merged into one. He could make out the distinct ‘3’ though and it filled his heart with hope.

Ford would be proud of him, ecstatic even.

He just needed to figure out how best to get to that point without a pointless argument in the middle.

And with that in mind he opened the book, let more lies and twisting tales spring free from him as he glanced through the pages of fuzzy scribble and far too detailed sketches for him to make out. Instead of worrying about his brother he let himself instead have a moment whilst his mouth ran on autopilot. Let his heart remind him of the purely comforting and safe knowledge that he was recovering his sight and that he could finally fully experience the sights and sounds that these worlds had to offer, like they had always dreamed they would.

He could adventure with his brother across unknown waters without worrying he was just a burden that was being kept around out of pity.

He let his story dwindle to a close, watched Ford yawn across from him and stretch, obviously satisfied with the lacklustre tale he was sure his autopilot had produced. He wondered if it was time, wondered if this was the moment.

It felt like it was, felt like something had fallen into place ready for him.

His eyes were drawn back to the book, a small plan taking root. He flicked through page after page, eyes darting up every so often to check Ford was still sitting peacefully beside him, happy for the quiet lull.

Finally he found it, found the spark that felt perfect for the occasion.

He took a second to school his face, tried to get rid of the grin and replace it with an indignant scowl as he made a small reproachful noise in the back of his throat.

He could see Ford’s mouth open questioningly but made sure to beat him to it.

“Seriously? You called Blobzilla a _Cloddertrog_?”

There was a small sliver of panic as the words finally left him, the page of the journal falling flat against his knees so that Ford could see the large sprawled title that Stan had obviously read. A shudder tracing down his spine; his self-doubt screaming at him that he had just made a mistake.

It really did only last the barest of moments though.

When he would tell the kids of this moment many, many years later- the precise moment that his brother found out he was regaining his vision, he would always state adamantly that no matter what Ford said about the moment there were two facts that he just could not deny.

In actual fact, it had nothing to do with Ford refuting the points or not, considering usually he just listened to the story himself with apt attention, and everything to do with what he himself wanted to remember about the moment.

It had everything to do with him not being able to decide what it was that struck a chord with him most about that tearful happy moment that had left him feeling breathless and loved and altogether whole in a way that he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

The first moment that struck a chord was the slack jawed look of utterly neutral shock that had engulfed his brother, a look that somehow, however bad his vision was, had stuck with him. Made itself clear in his head as if he could really see it at the time in such stark clarity when he knew in reality he really couldn’t have made out the wide eyes behind the glasses, nor the exact goldfish interpretation his brother had been doing. It probably had something to do with the pleasure that he had befuddled his genius of a brother, had caught him completely off-guard and knocked him for six.

It was always so hard to get one up on his brother and throw him for a loop.

The second moment that vied for the top spot of being his favourite moment came directly after. When suddenly his view was no longer of his brother and their campsite, his vision suddenly filled with the night sky instead.

When the slack jaw had snapped shut and he had seen Ford’s bright smile for the first time in over a decade. Right up close to his own, close enough for him to see the tears brimming in his eyes. Before the world had turned upside down as his brother barrelled into his chest and engulfed him in a hug that knocked the air out of his lungs.

The part that the gruff old man would always leave out just so Mabel didn’t think they were too sappy was just how long they sat there, laughing and crying in one another’s arms. How they ended up laying down and staring at the sky together through the night and watched the sunrise together for the first time since they’d fallen through the portal.

Ford would tell them though, when he thought Stan couldn’t hear. He’d tell them all about how he’d later scold Stan for not telling him but thank him for giving him such a wonderful memory to outshine the older ones. How from that moment on the questions became reversed and Ford took great joy asking Stan to describe what he saw for him, even though they both could see it, just for the pure joy of his brother describing the colours and the shapes that went with the texture and smells unlike before.

What he didn’t know was that Stan listened happily to his side of the story, just out of sight and just as delighted as the small girl dancing around him.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: All the fluff~ This headcanon was so sweet, I’m super glad you drew the thing and made me write it up properly ♥ Now on to the next fic.


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